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Roman sighed. Louis really was a dumb fuck.
“I got this,” Sal promised Roman. “Don’t lose your shit. You’ll scare the kittens.” He squatted down in front of Louis, gesturing to his wound. “Didn’t that hole in your foot teach you anything? Roman asked you a question. Where are the dogs? The why is none of your business.”
Louis licked his dry lips, saying, “They’re in the crates in the back room.”
“I’m on it,” Abel said, striding into the darkened corner of the large room in the direction of one of the only internal doors.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Roman began, as he squatted down next to Louis. “You’re going to leave Monash and never come back. You’re going to give my friend here a list of all the dogs in your little fight club and where he can find them. You’re also going to tell him who else is involved because I can already tell you’re not the mastermind behind this little enterprise. You don’t have the smarts.”
“Fuck you,” Louis spat.
“Not even on your best day,” Roman told him hastily. “If you do all that, I might just let you live. If you don’t...” He shrugged. “Well, I have a feeling there are a couple of hungry dogs who need feeding.”
Louis tensed, looking in the direction of where Abel disappeared. “You wouldn’t. I don’t believe you.”
Roman smiled, watching as a puddle appeared beneath Louis. “Oh, you believe me, all right. Names!” he snapped, stomping on Louis’s foot. The man screamed loud enough to pierce eardrums.
It took fifteen minutes, but by the time Louis had passed out from blood loss, they had a list of assholes Roman would be sending his crew after. He watched dispassionately as blood continued to flow from Louis’s wound. It had been kind of pumping rather than flowing since Roman had stomped on it. “Do you think I busted an artery?” he asked Sal.
Sal shrugged, eating a packet of chips he found at the bar. “Dunno. Maybe. Do feet have arteries?”
“I’ll ask Angel,” Roman said. He looked to where Abel was sitting on the ground about twenty feet away with two scarred-up, scared dogs. He was surprised by how docile they were, given their circumstances. Abel was handling them well—he had always been good with animals. And Roman knew he wouldn’t drop his guard and get his hand bitten off. The dogs’ behavior was going to be unpredictable for a long while yet.
“Let’s head out,” he ordered, looking down at the two kittens wrapped in his jacket. The only time he had put them down was to take his jacket off and wrap them up. Their little purrs were music to his ears. “Leave Louis. If he wakes up in time to head to the hospital, good luck to him.”
“I don’t think that’s a realistic expectation,” Sal drawled. Roman watched him kick Louis. The man didn’t move. “He’s dead.”
“Huh, will you look at that? I guess feet do have arteries,” Roman commented. As Sal and Abel followed him out, a thought hit him. “That’s a new record. I’ve never killed anyone by shooting them in the foot before. Not just the foot.”
“I know I haven’t,” Abel said.
“Can’t say I have either,” Salvatore said, balling up his empty crisp packet.
“That means it’s my record,” Roman declared with satisfaction. “Write it down.” They had an ongoing spreadsheet. Something they’d been adding to since they were teenagers.
“What do we do now?” Abel asked when they were back at the car in front of the warehouse. He gently stroked the two doggy heads. “We have four victims on our hands. But not the same type of victims that we usually do.”
“Isn’t our guest an animal person?” Salvatore asked.
Abel perked up. “Claire? Yeah, she is. A vet nurse or something.”
“Let’s ask her to start earning her keep,” Roman suggested, gesturing to the animals.
Claire had been with them ever since Abel took her from the streets. Her ex was proving hard to pin down, having seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. With no guarantee for her safety, no job, and no home, Roman had agreed to allow her to stay. Besides, the woman was still afraid of her own shadow. He felt bad, knowing firsthand what domestic violence could do to a person’s soul.
“You have a problem with her staying?” Abel asked sharply.
“I don’t, no,” Roman responded slowly, eyeing his friend curiously. “I wasn’t implying that at all.”
“Awfully touchy there,” Salvatore commented to Roman conversationally.
“Kind of like how you were with Luca,” Roman pointed out.
Abel glared at both of them. He punched Roman in the shoulder as he stalked past, rounding the SUV to the passenger side with the two dogs trailing after him obediently. “More like how you are with Angela,” he yelled back.
Roman grinned at Salvatore. “Definitely touchy.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
